


Private Dancer

by elrhiarhodan



Category: Kingsman (Movies)
Genre: Accidental Voyeurism, Asexual Character, Ballet Dancer Eggsy, Elements of Kingsman TGC, Elements of Kingsman TSS, How Could You Fall for a Boy Like That, James/Alastair, M/M, Masturbation, Mention of Charlie Hesketh, Mention of Gazelle, Mention of Richmond Valentine, Merry Month of Masturbation Challenge, Merwin, Non-Tailor AU, Old Friends, Past Merlin/Charlie, Pole Dancing, Prosthetics, Roxy/Tilde, Voyeurism, alternative universe, don't be afraid to touch your meat, non-spy au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-15
Updated: 2018-06-26
Packaged: 2019-05-07 04:58:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,173
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14663793
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elrhiarhodan/pseuds/elrhiarhodan
Summary: Merlin moves into a new apartment, and to his secret delight, discovers that the young man in the apartment across the courtyard is a ballet dancer with great flexibility.  That he happens to practice in the middle of the night is an even greater treat.





	1. In the Silence of the Nighttime

**Author's Note:**

> Based on a prompt given to me by my dear friend, Theatregirl7299, who wanted Merlin watching Eggsy naked. I got a little creative and worked it into the MMOM prompt "See".
> 
> Depending on how things go, this may be the start of a longer, chaptered fic.

Merlin is tired and sweaty and every muscle in his body aches. _This is what happens when you're a stubborn fuck and don't let your friends help you move into a new apartment._

But he'd had to prove to everyone – and himself – that he's still capable. Still complete. That just because he's missing half a leg doesn't mean he's anything less than a whole man.

Roxy had looked at him and murmured something that sounded like "toxic masculinity". James had been pissed that there'd be no "post moving shit beer and pizza". Percival just shook his head and gave him a sad, understanding look. Harry had outright called him an asshole.

But Merlin hadn't changed his mind and accepted their offers of assistance. He moved slowly, but he got it done. He moved every damn box from his old cramped apartment into the spacious new one, courtesy of the multimillion dollar payout from Valentine Industries. Not only had they stolen Merlin's technology, but Valentine's personal bodyguard had tried to kill him when he'd filed a lawsuit against her boss and went to serve it personally. Merlin had fought back, but the bodyguard had sliced off his left leg, just below the knee, before Valentine had called her off.

The whole thing had been caught on camera, and Valentine, crazy bastard that he is, had offered Merlin "reasonable" compensation for his leg and his patents if he'd keep quiet. Merlin hadn't been all that certain that accepting the offer would be the right thing to do, but a hundred million would go a long way to giving Merlin the chance to make Kingsman Tech into the powerhouse he'd always dreamed it could be.

Percival, the company's lawyer and chief pain in the ass (a title he'd stolen from Harry the day Merlin had hired him), had repeated the old saw about a bird in the hand enough times that Merlin decided to sell the patents that he hadn't been sure would ever be commercially useful. And take Valentine for a few million more for the loss of his leg.

Truthfully, Merlin hadn't needed the money to buy a new place, and he hadn't wanted to move, either. But the flat he'd been living in for the last twenty years had narrow hallways that couldn't accommodate a grown man with a crutch, a tiny shower and no elevator to get to the fourth floor. Merlin had held out as long as he could, but when he'd had to haul himself up four flights of a winding staircase after working nearly a week straight through, he'd given up and told Percival to find him a new place to live. 

This flat, in a recently renovated Art Deco-era building in Bloomsbury, near the British Museum, is a far cry from the one he'd left behind in Notting Hill. Bright and airy, with floor to ceiling windows in almost every room, Merlin isn't quite sure he didn't make a mistake. He feels too exposed.

Perhaps blinds would help.

Unwilling to give into the exhaustion, Merlin spends the next few hours shifting boxes into the kitchen and the library, until he finally has to call it quits. Everything aches, especially his stump and by the time Merlin is able to remove the prosthesis, he's just about sobbing. Thank god for Roxy, who'd insisted on packing a duffle bag for him complete with medication, toiletries, towels, and clean clothes for the morning, and delivering it to the new apartment herself, along with a few rolls of toilet paper, his crutches, and a small grocery order.

Merlin hobbles over to the bath and eases himself into the hot water. The heat feels good and with a press of a button, a million tiny bubbles start to work their magic on his abused body. He lets out a sigh of relief as the pain eases. It would be too easy to fall asleep in the tub and it almost feels like it wouldn't be worth the effort to haul himself out, but Merlin doesn't think he'd live down the ignominy of having to call for help when his joints lock up. 

It's a pity that Charlie had turned out to be such a cruel and useless twunt, ending their relationship - such as it had been - before Merlin had gotten released from the hospital. Right now, he could have used a strong set of arms. Not that Charlie had ever been the dependable kind, even before Merlin had lost his leg; he'd mostly been a good fuck - a flexible body and a mouth without a gag reflex. A few weeks ago, he'd run into the lad at one of the clubs they'd used to frequent. Charlie had made some noises about getting back together, now that Valentine had been so generous. Of course, everything would have to be done in the dark, and Merlin shouldn't expect that Charlie would touch or would want to be touched by his stump.

Merlin had let Charlie talk, tuning him out as he enjoyed watching the young, hot bodies writhing the dance floor. Charlie had finally gotten the message, muttering something about Merlin being an old perv who'd die alone, stalking off and leaving Merlin stuck with Charlie's bar tab.

Merlin can still hear the technopop sounds of Annie Lennox singing _How could you fall for a boy like that?_ , the music that had been playing in the club that night. Yes, Charlie Hesketh had certainly been a sexually talented but otherwise useless twunt. Harry had been right, an Italian sports car might have been a better choice for a midlife crisis.

Dripping wet from the tub, Merlin digs through the duffle that Roxy had packed and he once again blesses the day he'd hired her. She might be a brilliant designer, but she's an even better human being. She'd packed his favorite bathrobe and put a bottle of ibuprofen in the pocket. Merlin swallows to tablets and slurps some water from the tap before heading into his new bedroom. The mattress is on the bed frame and there is even a pile of clean bedding on top of it, but Merlin doesn't have the energy to wrangle with them tonight.

Instead, he grabs a pillow and a blanket from the pile and goes to his sleep chair, set up in front of the window. He doesn't have a great view of anything, just the dark flat on the opposite side of the courtyard.

By rights, he should just drop off from exhaustion, but Merlin's never been an easy sleeper - both surrendering and staying asleep. Probably a legacy of a childhood governed by emotionally and physically abusive parents.

But it's nice, lying on his sleep chair, legs - or rather, leg and a half - elevated, the neighborhood a lot more peaceful than the one he'd left behind, with no real worries at the moment. Come morning, Merlin will call his friends and they'll arrive en masse and drive him crazy with the unpacking, with their loud voices and ridiculously argumentative ways, like a pack of elegant wolves. And Merlin will be happy that he'd given into the bonds of friendship.

Tonight, he'll drift along and enjoy the aches and pains earned from honest labor and let sleep take him when it will.

Merlin doesn't know how long he's been drifting, but at some point, the lights in the flat opposite his come on, pulling him out of his half-asleep state. Like his flat, that apartment doesn't seem to have any window coverings, and the occupant - a young man - doesn't seem to realize that someone might be watching. 

Or perhaps Merlin's across-the-courtyard neighbor doesn't care. He's pulled off his shirt and pushed down a pair of track pants, kicking them off with a graceful flick of a very well developed leg. At first, Merlin thinks the lad is naked, but then he is confused, since he can make out a very pronounced bulge but nothing else.

When the lad stretches one leg nearly vertical, Merlin realizes that he's in a skin-tight, flesh-tone leotard. 

Merlin swallows hard. He's always had a weakness for young, lithe male bodies - which explains the mistake with Charlie - and he's always enjoyed watching. Before the assault, Merlin had an annual subscription to the Royal Ballet at a level that entitled him to attend select number of backstage and dressing room events. He'd always managed to keep his tongue in his mouth and his prick under control, but afterwards, he'd go home and wank himself raw.

He'd let the subscription lapse, feeling too unlovely to be in the same building with such grace and beauty. But now, Merlin has his own private show.

The lad is definitely flexible, and Merlin is once again confused, as the boy seems to be floating in midair. But then Merlin realizes that the room across the way is outfitted with a floor to ceiling pole and the ballerino is wrapping himself around it like a completely different kind of dancer.

And Merlin is enthralled.

He's also hard as a bar of iron. 

In the cool, quiet darkness, Merlin takes himself in hand as he watches the lad make graceful, artistic love to a steel pole. There's nothing salacious about the movements, but the performance is the very definition of erotic. Merlin strokes himself slowly, his fingers barely caressing his dick, drawing out a pleasure that had been too long absent from his life.

All too soon, the ballerino finishes his performance and the room goes dark.

Merlin's orgasm is a slow pulse of satisfaction, and as the lassitude pulls him under, Merlin can't help but think that he might _just_ be very happy in his new home.

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::


	2. Going Up

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eggsy comes home after a long day of rehearsals and wants nothing more than to soak his aching feet. But gets swept up by James (and the scent of good pizza) and gets to meet his new neighbor, Merlin. It doesn't go well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who voted for me to continue this. I hope you'll keep reading and letting me know you're enjoying it.
> 
>  **Warning:** Brief mention on AIDS and suicidal ideation.

"Would it be a problem to let me in?" There's a man in the foyer that Eggsy doesn't recognize. He's carrying several pizza boxes and can't seem to reach the apartment call buttons.

Eggsy knows he shouldn't just let random strangers into the building, even if they are in well-cut suits. But it's the pizza that makes up Eggsy's mind. No self-respecting burglar would go to the expense of ordering four New York-style pies from Dominicos – at nearly twenty quid each – and carrying them into the building he's planning to rob. Also, the guy's suit is really kind of flashy – what his mum would call "sharkskin" – and creates an indelible impression.

So Eggsy ignores his misgivings and doesn't even ask which apartment he's heading to. He just enters his pass code to release the lock and holds the door open. 

"Thanks. I'm James, by the way." The man does the thing where he sticks out a hand from under the boxes, but it's impossible for anyone to shake it.

"Name's Eggsy. You live here?" Eggsy's never seen James before, but that doesn't mean anything. Eggsy's only lived in Cameron House for about six months and knows just a few of the residents.

"No, just visiting. My boss moved in yesterday and decided to stop being a stubborn fuckwit and let us give him a hand unpacking his million boxes of books."

"Ah, okay." This morning on the elevator trip down to the lobby, Eggsy had been treated to a tedious rant by Mr. Waterstone, one of the few residents that Eggsy knows, about the new tenant who'd monopolized the freight elevator all day yesterday. Not that Old Waterstone had needed the freight elevator, but the idea that someone else had been using it ticked him off.

Eggsy gestures for James to precede him when the elevator arrives. "What floor?"

"Nine, thank you." Eggsy doesn't say anything, but he also lives on nine, the top floor.

When Eggsy doesn't press any other numbers, James comments, "You must be my boss' new neighbor."

Eggsy nods. The elevator is as slow as syrup in winter, taking a full two minutes to reach the top floor. Midway through the journey, Eggsy's stomach rumbles, the pizza smells fantastic and Eggsy hasn't eaten since breakfast – a cup of plain yogurt and a banana. Since then, he's had a two hour class, followed by a six hour rehearsal.

James says in a very off-hand way, "You could join us, you know. Be the neighborly thing to do."

Eggsy sighs. "I'd like to, but pizza's not exactly on my diet."

James gives him a head-to-toe look. "I'd say you're approaching zero body fat. A slice of pizza couldn't hurt."

Eggsy tries not to blush at the other man's perusal. "Thing is, I looooove pizza, and one slice could easily be three. Can't break discipline like that." Eggsy's mouth is watering, though.

"You're an athlete?"

"No, dancer." Eggsy swings his RBC duffle so it displays the logo.

James lights up. "Oh my. Merlin is going to adore you."

"Merlin?"

"My boss, your new neighbor. He adores ballet." The elevator creaks to a halt and the doors slide open. "Come on, let me introduce you."

Eggsy's tired and wants nothing more than to shower and soak his aching feet in Epson salts, but the scent of cheese and tomato sauce and warm crust is as alluring as an old Sean Connery movie. Instead of turning right, he goes left and follows James to the only other flat on the floor.

The door is opened and there are stacks of neatly broken down boxes piled in the hallway. On any other floor, Eggsy doesn't doubt that one of the residents would have already filed a complaint. 

"I've returned, bearing tasty comestibles." James looks at Eggsy and winks, adding, "also, pizza."

People of various ages and genders converge on James and divest him of the fragrant boxes, opening them and proclaiming the composition of each pie with varying levels of delight and disappointment.

James introduces him to the crowd, who seem more interested in the food than him, which suits Eggsy just fine. He hangs back and observes, trying to get a sense of who these people are; no one seems to be answering to the name Merlin. There's Harry, a tall, older bloke with an eyepatch, wearing a French-cuffed shirt that probably costs as much as Eggsy's monthly take home pay, who's being rather fussy with his pizza. Then there's Percival, who seems to be with James on a personal level – since they are sharing toppings off of their own slices. The two women, Roxy and Tilde, also appear to be a couple, given how they are practically sitting in each other's laps.

This display of same-sex solidarity gives Eggsy some peace of mind about his new neighbor, and he's about to sneak out, unintroduced, when someone comes out from the back of the flat. Someone so utterly gorgeous that Eggsy forgets how to move, how to breathe.

"Do I smell pizza?" 

Tilde holds up a box. "Save you the last two slices of ham and olives."

"Thank ye, yer highness." Merlin snakes out the pizza from the box and drops it onto a paper plate. Someone - Alastair - hands him a bottle of beer.

Eggsy tries not to gape at the newcomer - this god amongst men is Scottish. Before he takes a bite, he takes notice of Eggsy.

"Who are ye?" 

Suddenly, Eggsy's the cynosure of all eyes. He looks helplessly at James, who smirks and takes his time wiping the grease from his lips.

"This is Eggsy. He lives in the other apartment on this floor. He's your neighbor, Merlin." James then adds, "He's also a dancer with the Royal Ballet Company."

Eggsy breaks free of his stupor and holds out his hand. The only think he can think to say is, "Welcome to Cameron House."

Merlin doesn't take his hand. In fact, he doesn't seem particularly pleased to meet him. That impression is reinforced when he turns his back on Eggsy and walks out of the room and the sound of a door slamming shut puts an emphatic point on the moment of humiliation. Eggsy looks around and everyone seems to be as shocked as he is.

"Well, I guess that's my cue to exit, stage left. Nice not really meeting all of you."

No one tries to stop him until he's halfway down the hall. Unsurprisingly, it's James who's chased after him. "I'm really sorry about that. Don't know why Merlin was such a rude bastard. He's not normally like that. Usually as friendly as a Labrador Retriever."

"A Labrador Retriever? Really?" 

James grimaces. "Well, no. He's more like a German Shepherd, to be honest. But once you get to know him, Merlin's really quite nice."

Eggsy shrugs. "It's okay. We probably won't run into each other too often - I'm rarely here. You can tell your boss I'll keep out of his way."

James frowns. "I really don't know what to tell you. Merlin _really_ isn't like that – I've never seen him be so rude to anyone. And we all had kind of hoped that living in a new place would help him lighten up, be more personable."

"Be more like the Labrador Retriever you say he really is?" Eggsy doesn't hesitate to call James on his bullshit. 

"He's been through a lot in the last year."

Eggsy's tired, his feet are aching, and he's still staving. "Sorry to hear that. But there's a broiled chicken breast in my fridge that's calling my name. And a jar of Epson salts for my feet. So, if you'll excuse me - " Eggsy turns and heads to his own flat. James, thankfully, lets him go.

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

"In all the years I've known you, I've never seen you behave like such a fucking coward."

Merlin had retreated to the bathroom, certain that no one would follow him. He should have figured that Harry, his oldest and closest friend, wouldn't care if he'd been taking a shit if he had something important to say.

But Merlin's not on the toilet. He's standing at the sink, staring at his ugly, old face. It doesn't help that Harry's standing behind him and looking like everyone's wet dream of perfect English nobility, even with the patch over his left eye. "I'm not a coward."

"You are."

"Fuck off." But Harry doesn't fuck off. He just stands there, a look of understanding on that perfect face. Even the gray at the temples somehow makes his friend seem more attractive. Merlin scowls.

"Why did you run?"

Merlin's not going to tell Harry that he'd ogled the lad last night, that he'd gotten a free show and for the first time since he'd lost his leg, he'd actually felt something. Nor is he going to tell Harry that he'd met Eggsy before, under completely different circumstances. When he'd been whole and reasonably presentable.

"Merlin?"

Merlin sighs. "Look, I just wasn't prepared to meet the neighbors. Not with this out in the open." He gestures to his prosthetic, exposed by the shorts he's wearing.

"Ah." Harry's look of sympathy would be grating if it came from anyone else. "But I don't think the boy noticed. He was too busy looking at your face, like he'd just been given a glimpse of heaven."

"Hell, more like it." Merlin turns away from his reflection and finds himself face to face with Harry. "I'm sorry I behaved like an arse, all right?"

"It's not me who you need to apologize to."

Merlin knows that. "I'll do the pretty tomorrow, satisfied?"

Harry sighs. "You don't have to apologize for me and if you don't want to apologize to the boy, don't. But you never know when you'll need to be on good terms with your neighbor."

"I know, I know." Merlin mutters, defeated by Harry's persistence.

When they head back into the living room, Merlin's surprised to see that everyone else is gone. Someone's cleaned up the packing detritus and the unopened boxes have been neatly stacked. From the warm scent coming from the kitchen, it seems that someone, likely Tilde, has put his pizza into the oven to keep warm.

"Come on, you need to eat." Harry all but pushes him into a chair, finds a bottle of beer and takes the pizza out. Instead of being creepy and watching Merlin as he eats, Harry makes himself useful and unloads a carton of kitchenware directly into the dishwasher.

It's a comfortable dynamic between them, one that's been familiar for the past thirty years. He'd met Harry at Oxford, electing to live in a private house rather than in a campus dormitory while studying for his Ph.D. Even then, Harry, for all of his posh upbringing, had a caretaker streak that couldn't be denied. It had made him something of a pain – but a beloved pain. Harry had always made sure Merlin had a strip of condoms on him when he'd go out for a pull, had dragged him to an AIDS clinic every month for a year when he'd gotten drunk and had unprotected sex with three men in a London leather bar, had held him when a false-positive result had made him suicidal.

As close as they'd been, he and Harry had never hooked up for some reason. Actually, Merlin knows the reason. He had loved (and still loves) Harry too much to hurt him. Merlin's always been a player – a bit of a slut, a man with a voracious sexual appetite and a preference for variety, at least until Valentine's crazy bodyguard sliced off his leg. He's never wanted to settle down, preferring casual and mostly meaningless relationships with increasingly younger men, like that twunt, Charlie Hesketh. 

Merlin sighs.

"What's the matter now?"

"Nothing more than the usual, feeling too old and broken and foolish."

"You're none of those things, my friend."

Merlin forces himself to smile. "Why couldn't I have fallen for ye, Harry Hart? We could have made a go of it."

"Because as much as I enjoy taking care of you, we're not really compatible. Basically, you like having lots of athletic sex and I don't."

"That's true. Sad, but true. Still, ye'd make someone a fantastic husband."

"Not really. The thought of coming home to someone, day in and day out, makes me ill. As much as I loved Mr. Pickle, I find I'm just as happy without any obligations at the end of the day, even if it's just walking and feeding a dog. Taking care of you is a full-time job."

There's no sting in Harry's words, but Merlin feels their bite nonetheless. "I'm sorry."

"For what?"

"For consuming all of yer energy."

"You don't. If I wasn't happy working for you, I wouldn't stay. It's not like I need the money. I like the challenge. It satisfies me. Beyond that, I have my hobbies and my friends. I'm a perfectly happy specimen of an half-blind old queer who doesn't care to get his prick wet anymore." Harry's never talked about his time in the military, or the work he'd done for some alpha-numeric agency that just might have a big newish headquarters on the Thames. Work that had cost him his eye.

Merlin finishes his meal and pushes Harry out of the way so he can take care of the dishes. When they're done, the pair of them relocate to the living room and Harry cracks open a bottle of '62 Dalmore. "A housewarming present."

Exhaustion brings another wave of self-pity. "Ye're a good friend, Harry. I don't know what I'd do without ye."

"Stop being so maudlin, you old cunt. It doesn't suit you at all." Harry glares at him over his glass. "You're alive, you're healthy, you're reasonably good looking. You've got money and friends and a business that you love. That boy looked at you like he'd just been given a glimpse of heaven. He'd probably let you bang him."

Merlin snorts into his whisky. "Aye, ye're right. Need to pick myself up and start living again." He thinks about the pretty lad on the other side of the building and how nice it would be to get to know him. And bang him. "Maybe I should renew my sponsorship for the Royal Ballet Theatre."

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the first story in years I've posted that will be a true work in progress. I will try to update weekly, but with my life the way it is at the moment, I'm reluctant to make any promises. But your excitement for new developments will definitely spur my creativity.


	3. Masques

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eggsy finds himself in an unexpected new position, one he's earned through hard work and someone else's bad choices. What he doesn't need is a difficult encounter with his intriguing new neighbor, but you can't always get what you want.

"Unwin, my office. Now."

Rosedale, the artistic director, rarely comes into the practice studio. And he never singles out any member of the company unless they are principals. For Rosedale to call Eggsy, a senior soloist, out of practice is unheard of, but Eggsy has no choice but to comply. He follows Rosedale to a small office off of the studio, one belonging to the company's senior choreographer, who's sitting behind a very messy desk. The ballet master is present, as well.

This doesn't bode well for Eggsy. He's rapidly running through everything he's done in the past week and can't remember a single misstep. None of the three men say anything and Eggsy's too nervous to let the silence play out.

"Is there anything wrong, sirs?"

Rosedale cracks a small smile. "Relax, Unwin. Nothing's wrong. At least not for you."

Eggsy takes the man at his word and falls into parade rest.

Rosedale asks, "When was the last time you practiced Romeo?"

Eggsy swallows hard. In a week, the Company will be opening the season with the perennial favorite, Prokofiev's _Romeo and Juliet_ and he's been cast as Tybalt. He's also the understudy for Romeo. "Two days ago, sir. Amelia and I practiced the roles on Monday." 

Rosedale looks at Serikov, who adds. "You did well. Do you think you're up to taking on Romeo?"

Eggsy blinks. "Sir?"

Rosedale lets out an audible sigh. "Digby was an idiot last night. He got high at some rave, hopped onto the stage and threw himself into the crowd. No one caught him and he's in the hospital with a broken clavicle and a shattered knee. His career is over. You're his official understudy. Do well and we'll promote you to principal for the rest of the season. If you want to be principal, that is."

Eggsy can't quite believe it. He just might be sorry about getting a promotion on the back of someone else's misfortune if Digby hadn't been such a classist prick. "Are you sure? Piers has seniority."

Rosedale is brutally honest. "Piers is about to get cut – he'd been the one to take to the rave and according to witnesses, had waved off the crowd when Digby did his swan dive. Piers is going to be brought up on charges. But keep that to yourself. And besides, you're a better Romeo than Piers."

"Thank you for your confidence, sirs."

Serikov growls, "Don't thank me until the curtain falls, Unwin. Your ass is mine until then. I suggest you tell your mum and your sweetheart not to expect to see your pretty face any time soon."

Eggsy lets out a little laugh. "My mum's emigrated to New Zealand, and I don't have a sweetheart."

"Good."

They leave Rosedale and the choreographer and go back to the studio. Serikov makes the announcement, starting from the bottom. The company's other senior soloist, Nathaniel, will take over the role of Tybalt. Hugo, who's the company's other principal dancer looks like he's about to blow a gasket when he's given Piers' role of Benvolio. When Serikov announces that Eggsy will be dancing Romeo, Hugo pitches a fit and stalks out of the studio in high dudgeon.

Eggsy thinks, _good riddance to bad rubbish_. He dislikes Hugo almost more than he does Digby and Piers.

Serikov looks around the studio and his eyes land on Jamal, a recent addition to the troupe. "I've seen you practice Benvolio. How would you like a shot at stardom?"

Jamal nods eagerly and that's it. Almost every principal role has now been recast; Eggsy's life, as he knows it, is over. 

Eleven hours later, Serikov sends everyone home and Eggsy is exhausted in a way he hasn't been since his days as a gymnast. He splurges and orders an Uber to take him home, which is usually an enjoyable fifteen minute walk, but his legs are little more than limp noodles at this point. 

It's just his luck that he meets his unpleasant neighbor in the apartment lobby. Eggsy nods to the man and curses at himself. His neighbor still looks like a fucking god, even more so in the beautifully tailored suit he's wearing, he's like every wet dream Eggsy's had.

The man, Merlin, nods back and Eggsy hopes that'll be the sum-total of their interaction. But it's not.

"I'd like to apologize for my rudeness the other day."

Eggsy doesn't want to deal with this, but he can't be a total shit. "It's okay." Eggsy looks everywhere but at Merlin's stunning face.

"No, it really isn't."

Eggsy desperately wants the end this conversation. "We all have bad days and react weirdly. Apology accepted."

"Ye'r very gracious."

Eggsy shivers at the Scottish accent, glad of the long drape of his hoodie over hips and thighs. "It's nothing. Like I said, bad days happen." He stares at the dial, willing the elevator to arrive. Eggsy's just too exhausted to even contemplate taking the stairs tonight. The old-fashioned indicator has been stuck between the third and fourth floor since he got here, but it finally starts moving and the door opens to reveal two of the building's elderly – and very snobbish – residence.

The octogenarians look from Merlin to Eggsy, their lined faces wearing identical sour expressions. Eggsy runs to the front door and holds it open for the pair, giving them a cheerful "Good evening."

They don't bother to thank him, but that wasn't the point; Eggsy had hoped Merlin would take the opportunity to take the elevator on a solo trip. Merlin's got his finger on the "door open" button and a wry twist to his lips. "Ye look tired, didn't think it would be fair to make ye wait after that display of unappreciated gallantry."

Eggsy shrugs. "I could have walked up."

"If ye wanted to walk, ye wouldn't have waited."

"True." With that, a wave of exhaustion swamps Eggsy and he yawns so hard he can hear his jaw pop. "Sorry, long day."

"Practice or class?"

Eggsy gives Merlin an odd look at the question. It's not one he'd normally get from a civilian. "Practice."

"Season opens next week. _Romeo and Juliet_ , right?"

Dumbfounded, Eggsy nods. "Yeah."

Merlin smiles and the expression makes the man even more handsome. "I've been a supporter of the RBT for years, but I'd let it lapse. Just decided to renew a week ago, when I realized my neighbor was a member of the Company." 

The elevator comes to a creaking halt on the ninth floor, the doors open and Merlin makes a sweeping gesture. "After you, Romeo."

Eggsy steps out of the elevator, thoroughly bemused. Merlin turns left and is whistling the _Romeo_ movement to the ballet's introduction. Eggsy calls out, "How did you know?"

Merlin turns, an ungraceful wobble. "Know what?"

"That I got the part."

Merlin smiles again, and Eggsy feels it in his gut. "I had no clue, but congratulations. You'll be magnificent."

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

Harry drags Merlin out of the office and over to his favorite tailor on Savile Row. Merlin wouldn't stop bitching for the entire walk. "What do I need a new evening suit for?"

"Because it's time. The one you've been wearing is at least four years old. You've also dropped a stone and somehow, that stick-figure body of yours has become a rather enviable physique. The jacket is too tight across the shoulders, too loose at the waist, and your trousers are baggy in the waist and seat. You're going to be very visible again and you want your dancer to look at you and lick those pretty lips, not sigh and think you're a disaster."

"I am a disaster, Harry. I'm missing half of a leg, remember?"

"And you've got both of your balls and a fully functioning penis, which is rather attractive." 

"I didn't think ye were interested in my cock." Merlin snarks.

"I'm not, but I am still a man who has a finely developed sense of aesthetics. Harry sniffs. "And you are not a disaster, my friend." They stop in front of the tailor's storefront. "You are a good looking man who needs to stop feeling sorry for himself."

That is the truth. "I know, it's just …"

Harry drapes and arm over Merlin's shoulder, squeezing gently. "I know. I know."

Harry does. Somewhere, somehow, during his years in government services, Harry had lost his left eye. He's never told Merlin the circumstances of that loss, and this is probably the closest he's come to admitting that he's not the man he'd once been. Merlin leans briefly against his friend and wishes again that he could be the type of man that Harry needs or that Harry could be the kind of man that Merlin would want, but even as the thought crosses his mind, Merlin knows that he's being a fool. Harry's friendship and loyalty and steadfast, clear-eyed affection is truly the best thing in his life and wanting more is tantamount to stupidity. Sex would ruin that.

And Merlin is not a stupid man.

That had been three weeks ago. Today, Harry's busy in meetings with investors, doing his level best to charm money out of a group of men and women interested in profiting from Merlin's - and Kingsman's - innovative vision. He's entrusted Roxy to make certain that Merlin goes for a final fitting instead of letting the tailor simply deliver the new evening suit.

The tailor slips the jacket onto Merlin's shoulders and smoothes the fall of the fabric before stepping back. "What do you think, sir?"

Merlin shoots his cuffs and looks at himself in the mirror. He finds he likes what he sees. The hard work with the physical therapist, relearning how to walk, how to move around the world with a prosthetic required months spent on crutches, building up muscle mass in his back and shoulders that years of half-hearted gym time never did.

As much as he likes the strength of this new body, Merlin still would rather have his leg back. He sighs.

The tailor mistakes the regret for disappointment and asks, "Is everything to your liking?"

"Oh, yes. Everything is fine. Ye've done a splendid job." Merlin turns and admires his profile. He probably should show the suit off to Roxy, if just so she can send a few pictures to Harry and put him out of his misery.

That task accomplished, Merlin returns to the fitting room and changes back into his comfortable trousers and jumper, ignoring the tailor's pained expression at the well-worn apparel that wasn't the best quality even when it had been new. He arranges to have the suit delivered to his apartment and as they leave the tailor, Merlin suggests they stop for coffee.

"Seriously?" Roxy is absolutely dumbfounded. "You want to have coffee in a real coffee shop in the middle of the afternoon?"

"Why not?" Merlin's puzzled by her reaction.

"You never take coffee breaks. I'm surprised you even came here without Harry having to threaten you with grivious bodily harm."

"Fair point, lass." Merlin shakes his head. "Mayhaps I'm turning over a new leaf. Maybe I've discovered that I need to make room in my life for more than just work."

"Such a ballet and pretty boys?" Roxy snickers.

"I've always made time for those." Merlin's predilictions have never been a secret.

"That's true."

They head towards a Cafe Nero and Merlin asks Roxy for her coffee order. It's just his luck that he knows the customer who's just picked up his order. It's that twunt, Charlie Hesketh. _Shit_.

"Well, well, look what the cat dragged in. Or should I say out? Can't remember the last time I saw you in the daylight, and I do have to say that the sunshine doesn't improve your looks one bit." 

Charlie's words shouldn't sting, but they do. Merlin, thought, is too experienced to let anything show and he gives as good as he gets. "Daylight doesn't do anything for you either, just makes you look older and stupider, if that's actually possible." 

Merlin takes satisfaction in seeing Charlie rear back, as if he'd been slapped. It's time to press the advantage. "You're nothing to me, Charlie. Nothing but a bad decision made after too much scotch and too little sleep. If our paths cross again, please do us both a favor and don't say hello." Merlin pushes past Charlie and gives the wide-eyed barista an order for two double espressos. In the mirror behind the counter, he sees Charlie's face turn dark red and behind Charlie, Roxy is standing, her fists clenched and ready to do battle on Merlin's behalf.

Charlie leaves and it seems as if the whole cafe lets out a sigh of relief. Merlin collects the coffee and a plate with a slice of banoffee pie, courtesy of the house, and heads back to the table, feeling a hell of a lot better about himself than he has in a very long time.

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**Author's Note:**

> Eggsy's performance is inspired [by this incredible video](https://youtu.be/7z2Eqm72sr4)


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